Two hundred years ago, Celestia visited Zansikar, and toured its thirteen kingdoms. She was three times a princess, once of Equestria, once of the Sun, and once of old and noble Saddle Arabia, and the Zansikar told wild tales of her power and nobility. They said that her touch cured afflictions, that her breath revealed changelings, and that barren soil sprung into bloom in her wake. When told such stories, Celestia would offer no confirmation or rebuttal, only a silent smile, and in that smile her legend grew.
Determined to win her favor, each kingdom received her in a lavish style. One carpeted the entirety of her route with rose petals that her hooves should never touch the ground, while another fused ten thousand precious stones together by magic to carve a statue of her from solid sapphire. But when she reached Marwari, capital of the largest and richest of the thirteen kingdoms, she found the greatest gift of them all. The city had constructed for her a grand palace made entirely of white stone and gold and set upon its grounds the finest of gardens. It was for her use, and hers alone, and when she left it would remain vacant until next she visited.
The feat was tremendous, and so taken was Celestia with the work that she decided to base her own palace at Canterlot upon its design, and on the spot, she blessed the ponies of Marwari and their kingdom. The deed became a part of history, as did the building that inspired it: The Equestrian Palace in the West. When planning her trip, Twilight had hoped dearly to stay there, and to assume the centuries-vacant home of Equestrian royalty.
The Ambassador to the Republic of Zansikar thought the request quite odd, and firmly suggested that perhaps Twilight would be much happier just finding a nice hotel or staying in the First Citizen’s guest quarters. But she insisted, and he relented. It was, after all, her palace.
“Twilight?” Spike called, the hinges on the spa doors creaking loudly as he pushed them open. The spa and its internal gardens occupied an entire level of the palace, built to be an enchanted grotto in miniature. Filthy and cracked mirrors were positioned to shine sunlight down onto garden boxes of dead trees, while tarnished and clogged silver taps stood poised to pour water into dust-filled pools. A carving of Luna as a filly played in a dry fountain. Every fitting was adorned with sockets, the gems long gone.
But Twilight was not there. Nor was she in any of the dusty hallways, nor the master bedroom where the ceiling had partially fallen in. Spike eventually found her in the library, its vast collection of books long since taken by mold. Moth corpses and bird droppings covered the floor, and a hole in the ceiling let in far more sunlight than the grimy windows. She was turning through one of the surviving tomes, her motions delicate and careful.
“Twilight,” Spike called. “The First Citizen is here to see you.”
“Thank you, Spike.” She shut the book, and turned to follow him through the palace. They walked in silence for most of the way, but when they were almost to the foyer, she said: “After the trip is over, I’d like to come back here and fix this place up. Turn it into a home for any Equestrians visiting Zansikar.” She paused. “I think that would do a lot to improve relations.”
Spike bit his lip. He looked over the ruined fixtures and the crumbling walls.
“Yes, Twilight,” he said.
Then they arrived in the foyer.
“Hello, your Highness!” called the First Citizen on sight of her. He didn’t look like much -- a thin little grey stallion in his late forties, a dusty and somewhat worn tweed jacket making him resemble an academic more than any great head of state. He was a unicorn, his crew-cut mane making his horn stand out more than it might have. And he was flanked by somepony else -- a large earth pony mare in uniform.
“Hello, First Citizen,” Twilight replied. Her body turned stiff for a moment, but she forced through the hesitation, and extended her hoof with the bottom turned down. Without missing a beat, the First Citizen took her hoof in a gentle magical grip, and kissed the top in the proper fashion. “Uh…” Twilight cleared her throat. “Welcome to my home. May I call you Deep State?”
“You may.” He smiled, releasing her hoof. “May I call you Twilight, your Highness?”
“You may.” After a moment’s awkward hesitation, she gestured back at Spike. “And this is Spike. My, um… little brother.” Spike’s expression was as awkward as hers, and he gave a small wave to Deep State. “He’ll be joining us.”
“Oh.” Deep State frowned a moment, but recovered quickly, reaching out a hoof. “A pleasure to meet you, Spike. I do apologize for not greeting you earlier. I’d been informed you were her valet.”
“What, you can’t see the family resemblance?” Spike asked, and they shared a polite chuckle as his claw shook Deep State’s hoof. “And, the major?”
It took Twilight a moment to catch Spike’s meaning, and a moment more for her eyes to dart to the rank pins on the mare’s collar. She was nearly the size of Big Mac, though with an off-yellow coat and a rougher, worn face. Her uniform was simple and made from cheap brown cloth, its only decoration the steel rank-indicators on her collar, and her cap that bore the double crosses of the Republic.
“Ah,” the First Citizen nodded. “Permit me to introduce Major Stone Table, my bodyguard.”
Twilight waved a little, a stiff smile on her face. Stone Table only nodded in reply, her expression stoic. Silence fell over the room. Eventually, Twilight cleared her throat. “Would you like to go for a walk in the garden?”
Deep State beamed. “I think,” he said, voice friendly, “that would be an excellent idea.”
He turned to the door, and Twilight stepped up to his side. Stone Table moved to keep her position just behind Deep State and to his left, while Spike did the same for Twilight, politely waiting just behind her and to her right. Twilight began to move out the door, but then paused and looked back at Spike. Her horn glowed, and she picked Spike up, pulling him forward until he was standing alongside her instead of behind her.
“Uh,” he managed, a small blush in his cheeks. “Right.” She smiled too.
Together, the three of them walked through the palace doors and into the vast estate that surrounded it. Though the grounds had been no better maintained than the palace itself, they were at least more habitable. The garden boxes were overgrown, but the trees were alive, and a few of the fountains were full of relatively clear rainwater. The sun was shining, and a cool breeze blew through the trees.
“I have to say,” the First Citizen broke the silence, “the newspapers have given quite a heroic account of your whirlwind race around the world. Once the news of your bet with Celestia broke, they couldn’t get enough of you. There are stories of train hopping, detours from your route, sinister conspiracy in the desert. You must be exhausted if even half of it is true.”
“Less than half, I think,” Twilight said politely. “And while I appreciate your hospitality, I’d like to skip the small talk and get straight to business.”
“As you wish.” Deep State’s tone was affable. “Do you mind if I smoke?” After Twilight shook her head, he pulled a pipe out of his pocket, tamping it down with magic and then lightning it with a flash from his horn.
“I read your telegrams,” he began, in a calm and orderly tone, “and while I may quibble on some of the specifics, your point is well taken. I agree that if I announce that Zansikar will not support Saddle Arabia in the event of a war, there is a significant chance they’ll back down without a fight. I think you are somewhat optimistic about the odds of that good news spiraling all the way back to Aero-Lipizzia, but it would at least limit the scale of the conflict. I found your argument persuasive, and I am prepared to act on this council.”
Twilight’s ears perked up, her expression lifting. “I, uh… really?” She straightened her neck quickly. “No offense. This trip just hasn’t been that easy.”
“No offense given.” He chuckled slightly. “However, there is a minor complication that I would welcome your assistance in unraveling. I understand you’re quite the scholar. Are you aware of how much coal Saddle Arabia provides to us every year?”
“A little over thirty million tons annually,” she answered without hesitation, “mostly via the Iron Crescent Railway.”
He smiled and nodded, gesturing to her for a moment with the tip of his pipe. “Just so. Or to put it another way, nine out of every ten pieces of coal burned in Zansikar were mined in Saddle Arabia. The consequences of Saddle Arabia cutting us off would be, to say the least, disastrous. And were I to announce we will not honor our treaty obligations…” He gave a small shrug.
“I’m sure we can think of something,” Twilight said quickly. “For something this important, there has to be a way to keep you supplied.”
“There is indeed,” Deep State said, his words softer than they’d been, and oddly distant. Then all snapped back to normal, and he met her eyes. “I wanted to finalize the terms before you and I spoke so that I could give you concrete information instead of ifs and vague hints. I came directly here from meeting with the ambassadors for Orlovia and the Water Palace. Tomorrow I am going to be announcing that in the event of an armed conflict, we will be supporting them against Saddle Arabia.”
Twilight froze to the spot in the middle of their walk, her expression blank. The First Citizen and Spike were still in motion, and each took a step ahead of her before they realized she’d stopped. For a second they looked each other in the eye, and then both took a step back to her side.
She recovered a moment later, shaking out her head. “You…” She bit her lip, her breath becoming audible as her chest tightened. “You can’t. You can’t. You’re one of Saddle Arabia’s oldest allies. They’ve been your friends for centuries!”
Sensing that Twilight wasn’t about to resume walking, Deep State moved to rest in the shadow of one of the poplar trees. He shrugged. “Unfortunately true,” he said with a sigh, “but as they say, that was then, this is now. The reality—”
“The voters will never allow it!” Twilight’s voice rose. “They’ll have you out of office so fast you’ll leave skid marks!”
“Well, possibly so,” he shrugged, accentuating the gesture with his pipe. “But in my experiance, voters tend to be…” He made a slow swirling gesture, like he was searching for the words, “strongly in favor of measures which will prevent them from being incinerated.”
Twilight faltered. Her ears folded back. “Uh…”
Deep State rolled the bit of the pipe over in his teeth for a moment, then again indicated Twilight with it. “Tell me, Twilight, do you know how many dreadnaughts the Water Palace’s navy has?”
“I…” Twilight frowned. “I don’t know the exact-”
“Fifty!” He gestured high into the sky with his pipe. “Can you believe it? That’s more than any other three countries combined. And make no mistake, they’re proper beasts. A single crystal pony battleship carries nearly two thousand tons of ammunition alone. Shells the size of a pony. Shells that I need to worry about when thinking of the forty million Zansikar who live on or near the coast.”
He took another puff, and gestured at Twilight. “So you see my situation. If I go to Saddle Arabia, my ponies burn. If I refuse to pick sides, they starve. The Water Palace offered us very reasonable terms. I’d have been a fool not to take them.”
Spike frowned. He reached into his backpack, and for the pen and scrolls within.
“I didn’t-!” Twilight snapped, her words coming hotly as her feathers ruffled out from her sides. It took her a moment to suppress the reaction and to calm her tone. “I asked you to help me limit the damage to innocent lives. Not to expand the war even further!”
“Please, Twilight. I understand you’re a mare of principle, but you’re also a scholar. Think rationally.” He turned, spotting an old fountain to their left under a crumbling rotunda. He walked that way with his bodyguard beside him, and Twilight and Spike hurried after him, Spike’s attention still on his scroll as his pen scribbled.
“Which is more likely to keep Saddle Arabia out of the war?” he asked as they walked. “A former ally pledging neutrality, or a former ally pledging to the other side? Saddle Arabia is surrounded on three fronts now, and the fourth is the sea. There’s a very good chance they’ll back down without a fight.”
Spike looked up from his notes. He mumbled something barely audible, and put the scroll to one side. Stone Table glanced his way, but nopony else did.
“I guess…” Twilight agreed, her ears folding back against her head. “But what if they don’t?”
“Diplomacy is never a sure thing,” Deep State agreed. “But I do think this approach gives us the best odds. I understand it’s distasteful, but with your endorsement of the action, and our combined political pressure, we just might avert something terrible.”
“And then what?” Spike asked, barely loud enough to be heard. Deep State and Twilight both turned to look at him. He shied away from their gazes, but after a moment, turned back and cleared his throat.
“You betray Saddle Arabia,” he said, keeping his voice clear despite the obvious strain. “They cut you off. They’re pressured out of the war. No conflict happens. Then what? You still don’t have any coal.”
“Spike, he just explained that.” Twilight shook her head. “Orlovia and the Water Palace are going to supply them.”
“No way,” Spike said quickly. Then he froze, his mouth drawing into a line. When he spoke next, it was more slowly. “I was, uh…” He glanced at the scroll. “Doing the math real quick. Since the Zebrarian freighters we rode on were gifts from Orlovia. How many freighters like that would it take to supply thirty million tons of coal a year? And it’s too many. Way too many.”
“Your brother is quite astute,” Deep State said to Twilight, nodding in Spike’s direction. Twilight frowned, looking quickly between the two of them. “While Orlovia may have plenty of coal, supplying an entire country via a three-thousand-mile contested sea route is entirely impractical. The Water Palace is much closer, but as they do not burn coal, they are not in the habit of mining it, and lack the materials to supply us. Which brings us to the second half of our new understanding, and the part that concerns you most intimately.”
“I don’t…” Twilight’s frown deepened, and she hurried to catch up as the First Citizen reached the rotunda. The fountain inside was a vast circle, filled with a massive stone carving of a world map in relief. Little mountain ranges rose out of the granite, next to rivers intricately carved by hoof. Once, the oceans had been actual bodies of flowing water, but now they contained only dust.
“You know that Equestria doesn’t have the coal to supply you either,” she explained, as he stepped into the fountain to stand in what should have been the western ocean. “I can’t help you.”
“In a way, you can,” he replied, looking down over the map. “Two centuries out of date, but it’ll do.” His hoof reached across to where a modern map would have shown the Republic of Zansikar. The old map still showed thirteen kingdoms.
“We have a year’s supply of coal laid in,” he explained. “And in the event of a war, the Water Palace and Orlovia have agreed to allow us to keep the western half of Saddle Arabia, including nearly all of their coal mines.”
He indicated Zansikar’s eastern border, and Saddle Arabia beyond. “It would guarantee us a future supply, as well as building a respectable empire out of the old world. But, as Spike has pointed out, the war might not happen, and even if it did, we can’t be sure of a crushing victory within one year. We need more immediate assurances.”
His hoof moved north.
Twilight swallowed. Her voice turned quiet. “Kiria hates the Water Palace. They’ll never agree to help you.” A faint breath escaped her. “No matter what I tell them.”
“While I do appreciate the offer to intercede on my behalf, I wasn’t planning on asking.” Deep State shrugged. “The Water Palace has wanted to conquer the rest of Kiria for years. The only thing that held them back was us. And now we’ve come to an understanding. They’re willing to concede us the bottom third,” he traced a line on the map with a hoof, “to secure the other two-thirds for themselves. And our section contains more than enough coal for our needs.”
Twilight drew a deep breath, her barrel shaking as she stared at the map. Spike walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, gently squeezing. “What does this have to do with us?” he demanded, his voice stern.
“You were offered a country once before, weren't you?” Deep State asked. Slowly, Twilight lifted her head. “In Aero-Lipizzia? You were offered Chain Link’s hoof in marriage. A chance to be an Empress. I now offer you that opportunity again, for a nation that has more of a future.”
Twice, his hoof tapped the map. “The Kirians are a proud breed. Breaking them would be a nasty business: rivers of blood, reign of terror, the allegorical iron hoof and such. All of which sounds like quite a lot of effort when all we really need is for them to sell us a resource we’re perfectly willing to pay for.” His hoof turned up. To point at Twilight.
“So I thought, after we’ve conquered them, rather than annexing them outright, why not allow them to become a protectorate of somepony a little nicer. Somepony they won’t feel the need to rise up against. Somepony they can trust, but who remembers who her friends are when it comes to trade policy.” He smiled at her. “Kirians love alicorns, you know. They think you’re the pillar of harmonious enlightenment.”
“Heh…” Twilight’s head sunk, and her ears folded back. Spike pulled closer to her, a frown on his face. She didn’t respond to him.
“I know,” Deep State said slowly, “that it isn’t what you wanted. But I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll see it’s the correct choice. It minimizes the odds of the war spiraling out of control. It gives you a country that you can rule with love and friendship, and through which you can bring your famous Equestrian ideals to the west. It makes you a real ruler. And all I ask in return is for you to endorse turning against Saddle Arabia, and sell me some coal later.”
Twilight sniffled. She reached up to rub her eyes. “No, no. I understand,” she said plainly.
She swallowed. “You’re a monster.”
Deep State frowned as Twilight lifted her head, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I mean,” she said, her voice cracking at the edges. “I have actually fought the Queen of the Changelings, a giant bug monster parasite that eats love, and I think she was less evil than you. It’s actually kind of impressive.”
“Twilight…” The First Citizen’s frown deepened, and he took a half-step her way. “I know this isn’t the solution you asked for. But as a leader, I have to do what’s best for my ponies. I would far rather we live by our neighbor’s happiness and not by our neighbor’s misery. But that isn’t the world we live in. I’m in a very difficult situation.”
“You’re a good pony in a bad system, right?” Twilight asked, voice cracking. She even smiled, as her eyes glistened. “No. Chain Link was a good pony in a bad system. He wasn’t perfect. Aero-Lipizzia is a racist dictatorship and it raised him to believe some things. But he tried. He wanted to change the world. He wanted to be fair, and to be a better ruler than his dad was. He didn’t wait for the world to allow him to be good. He would have been a great ruler.”
Her lip curled back like she’d eaten something sour. “You are the monster dragging around his corpse and using it as an excuse to kill millions of innocent ponies.”
“So will you intervene on Kiria’s behalf then? Declare war yourself?” His eyes narrowed. “Or perhaps you were going to try to stop me here and now.”
Twilight drew a shaking breath. Stone Table took a half step forward, placing herself between Twilight and the First Citizen. Spike stepped between Twilight and Stone Table, and cracked the joints in his claws. The sharp points shone in the sunlight, and a thin line of smoke curled out of his nose. He gripped the edge of the fountain, ready to hurl himself forward, his claw tips digging deep grooves in the stone.
“The bodyguard,” Spike said. “She has something that negates unicorn magic. She’s way too calm about her odds of winning a fight with you.” Spike and Stone Table locked eyes. “I’ll take her. You get the bad guy.”
“No,” Twilight said abruptly. She reached out a hoof and pushed Spike back and out of the way. He folded his claws in the nick of time, just as Twilight’s leg brushed over them. “No. I won’t use my power to depose a foreign leader.” She drew a few deep breaths, struggling to go on. “I won’t sink to your level.”
“You really are a pacifist, aren’t you?” Deep State asked, his brow furrowed. “Your convictions are admirable. But they’re about to make things a lot harder on a lot of ponies.”
“My conviction is what’s going to save the world,” Twilight growled. “I won’t let this happen.”
“How are you going to stop it?” Deep State asked, an incredulous note entering his voice. “You had the opportunity to stop it here and now, you couldn’t even take it. You’re an immortal magical creature. You’re royalty—a head of state. But all the power in the world will do you no good if you are not willing to use it.”
He let out a long sigh, gesturing down at the map. “You’ve certainly been blunt as to what you think about me. Let me me be candid in return. You’re a Princess in name only—Celestia’s pet. You have no country that obeys you, no armies who rise at your command. The only things you have to call your own are your personal might and the sterling reputation for goodness that all Equestrian princesses carry with them. You just demonstrated you aren’t willing to use your might to stop something terrible. I am offering you a chance to use your reputation instead.”
“You’re offering me a chance to whitewash your atrocities.” She sneered. “Not interested.”
His mouth drew into a line. “You understand that this won’t change the outcome. The deal is struck. Zansikar will change sides; Kiria will be conquered. The only difference is that instead of becoming an Equestrian protectorate, it will be annexed outright: iron hoof, river of blood, reign of terror. All that. You’re not helping anypony and are in fact making things much worse.”
“No,” she shook her head, her voice ragged but firm. “You don’t get to decide my options. Princess Cadence rules the Crystal Empire and all crystal ponies, including the Water Palace. She’ll put a stop to this. I will put a stop to this!” Her voice rose, and she leaned forward. Soon she was shouting. “I will stop this. I will stop this madness before it goes any further! And when your country is alone and isolated because of your treachery, I will-!”
Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to force herself to swallow. She blinked, and tears ran down her face. “I will come back,” she said, her voice sinking until it was quiet again, “and we will discuss the terms of a lasting peace. A better peace, than the one that lead to this… to whatever this is.”
She sniffed, and spread her wings from her body, lifting her shoulders and emphasizing her stature. Despite the tears running down her face, the image was unmistakeable: a proud alicorn ruler, hoof and horn, wings spread high, unshakeable where she stood. “And when I do,” she commanded, her own Royal Canterlot Voice echoing off of every stone, “you will have taken better care of my palace.”
Deep State froze; his jaw worked back and forth. Finally, he bowed his head. “As you wish, Princess.”
“Good!” she snapped, her voice like a hurricane’s roar. “Now get out of my house!”
The First Citizen and his bodyguard left. Once they were out of sight, she slumped from her pose, her wings tucking in tight against her side. Spike hurried to her, and hugged her tight, and she hugged him. She blinked away the tears, the flow slowing as they embraced.
“You know,” Spike said gently, “other than the crying, that was kind of awesome. You went full princess there.” He gave her a little squeeze around the shoulders.
“I did, didn’t I?” Twilight asked. A shaky laugh escaped her, and she reached up to rub away the tears and clean her face. “It got kind of dramatic.”
“You should open with that next time. Booming voice, storm clouds out of nowhere. ‘Heed my words, mortal!’” Spike’s high-pitched impression of Twilight’s Royal Canterlot Voice was less than menacing, and she smiled. “Totally change your image.”
“Let’s not go too far.” She let out a long breath, and shook her head. “He doesn’t understand, Spike. None of them understand. This conflict, this thing, the monster, whatever it is. Once it starts, it’s not going to stop. One spark, and the whole world will burn down. Millions of ponies will die.”
“I…” Spike bit his lip. “Yes, Twilight.”
Twilight frowned, and her eyes refocused on him. “You’ve said that before,” she said slowly. “You don’t agree?”
“I agree with the second half,” he said, hesitating before he finished, “but I think they understand just fine.”
“Heh. No. If they understood, they wouldn't be going through with it. They’re not all… like him. They just need help seeing the light.” She looked towards the distant palace gates.
“I…” Spike glanced down at the map. At Kiria. “Twilight, what would you do if you were in his place?”
“Huh?” Twilight turned back to Spike. “What do you mean? I’d stay out of the war. Find another way to get coal. We could probably even keep getting it from Saddle Arabia, if we just explained to them that our situation is—”
“No. No. I mean…” Spike frowned. “Pretend you’d married Chain Link. You’re Empress of Aero-Lipizzia. But that doesn’t instantly solve the crisis. The orlov population still hates being a part of what they see as a pegasus empire. They still want to revolt and form their own country. Would you suppress the rebellion?”
“No, of course not.” Twilight’s frown intensified. “I’m sure we could work out some diplomatic solution.”
“That involves them being their own country?” Strain started to show in his tone, and he reached up to rub at this face. “That involves the orlov, who I remind you are a majority in more than half of your territory including the capital, breaking away and forming their own state?”
“I guess? I don’t know. It would depend on the details.” Twilight stepped over to Spike, and put a hoof around his shoulder. “Why does it matter?”
“Because you’d be remembered as the last Aero-Lipizzian empress, whose rule destroyed her empire!” Spike’s fist opened and closed, and he gestured sharply at nothing. “Because…”
He lowered his hand, and let out a slow sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Spike…” Twilight shook her head, leaning down to catch his eyes. “Empires don’t matter. Countries don’t matter. Lives matter. If I was an empress and my last act was to save all my subjects from a terrible war, I’d be happy with that legacy, no matter what history books say.”
Spike didn’t answer. She nudged him with the tip of a hoof, and he snapped to life as though emerging from a trance. Finally he replied, “You’re the Princess, Twilight. I’m just worried.”
“I know. I’m worried too.” The the two stepped apart, and Twilight looked off at the map. “You think I should have fought him?”
Spike licked his lips. He glanced at the stone map one more time. Finally he said: “No.” Then he added, “No, don’t be silly. It’s a pretty bad precedent. You know. Beating up a world leader on your goodwill tour.”
“Good.” Twilight smiled. Though her face was dry, she rubbed at it again. “I was really worried I made the wrong call there.”
“I believe in you, Twilight. You always know what to do.” His eyes rolled over the dust-filled sea, to a little spot in the middle of the ocean. The stonemason had put so much detail into that tiny island. Crystal towers were carved in relief, and there were even tiny featureless crystal ponies at play. “Do you really think Cadence will be able to help?”
“Yeah.” Twilight nodded, her voice returning to something like normal. “The Water Palace is a part of the Crystal Empire. Its ponies have been waiting for a thousand years for their home to return. They even have a name for Cadence! She Who Was Prophesied. She’ll… she’ll turn this around.”
Spike looked around the ruined gardens, two centuries of neglect in every cracked stone. His jaw opened. It shut again without a sound.
“Is something wrong?” Twilight asked.
“No,” Spike said at once. He swallowed. “I love you, Twilight.”
She reached out and pulled him close against her. “I love you too, Spike.”
And in the shadow of the ruined palace, they hugged.